It Had To Be You (4 page)

“So, tell me about these folks we’re picking up,” D.J. said with that crooked grin I loved so much. “How many people are coming, anyway?”

“Well, let’s see.” I went through my mental checklist. “Mama and Rosa have two sisters between them, Bianca and Bertina. They’re twins.”

“I think I’ve heard you talk about them.”

“Right. One is widowed and the other divorced. They’re coming with Bertina’s oldest daughter, Deanna, my cousin.” I dove into a story about what fun I’d had with Deanna years ago, the last time we’d seen each other. “It’s so sad that our family lives so far away. We hardly ever get to see each other, but this week is going to be a blast. The house is going to be filled to overflowing.”

“Your house is already filled to overflowing.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Never seen so many people under one roof in all of my life.”

“But wait, there’s more!” I laughed. “My pop and Uncle Laz have a middle brother, Uncle Emilio, also from Napoli. He’s a bachelor in his late fifties, never married. Sort of a quiet man. I never really got to know him very well.”

“Maybe that will change this time around.”

I shrugged. “In a family as big as mine, we’re surrounded on every side by relatives. There’s hardly time to get to know anyone well. Let’s just say he’s always had a mysterious air about him. He’s a puzzle waiting to be solved.”

“Intriguing.”

“No kidding.”

I lit into another story about something Laz and Emilio had done years ago, but I had trouble concentrating. For whatever reason, I kept thinking about Jenna. Should I call her? See why she’d skipped out on work? I pulled out my cell phone and punched in her number but got her voice mail. Very strange.

Thankfully, I didn’t have long to think about it. We arrived at the airport in short order and met up with my parents in the parking garage. I hadn’t seen my mother this excited in years, but who could blame her?

“We’re supposed to meet everyone in baggage claim.” Pop looked at his watch. “Their plane should have landed by now. Hopefully we won’t have long to wait.”

Unfortunately, the baggage claim area in the international terminal was a mess. I’d never seen so many people or heard so many overlapping languages at once. I somehow found myself separated from D.J. and my parents. With so many people pressing in around me, I had to wonder if I would ever see them again. A woman in a sari called out to a little girl in a language I couldn’t quite make out.

Peering through the crowd, I tried to find a familiar face or two. Moments later, a suave-looking fellow in an expensive suit walked my way. He pulled off his Versace sunglasses and flashed a winning smile.

“Uncle Emilio!” I grinned as I sprinted his direction. “So happy to …” My words trailed off as a curvaceous young woman approached carrying a Gucci handbag. I took in the stunning brunette, overwhelmed by her full, pouty lips, her high, rose-blushed cheekbones, the whitest teeth I’d ever seen, and eyes the color of espresso under beautifully made-up eyelids. The woman was the very picture of perfection, though I had my suspicions there was a bit of collagen involved in the pouty lips.

The intriguing stranger slipped her arm through Emilio’s and gave him a coy smile. “Sorry, baby,” she said in Italian. “Had to make a pit stop.”

Baby?
I looked at this person—whoever she was—completely stunned. She couldn’t be much older than me, if even. Did Uncle Emilio have a daughter I knew nothing about? If so, why had he kept her hidden all of these years? Stranger still, why did she call him “baby”? I shook my head, convinced I’d misunderstood.

Emilio grinned, pulling her close. “Bella, this is Francesca Adriana Rossi, my wife.”

“Your … wife?” I could hardly formulate the words, the shock was so severe.
Just wait till Pop and Laz find out about
this!
I stood there gaping for a moment, then finally came to my senses. Extending my hand, I managed, “Francesca, welcome to Texas. We’re happy to have you.”

“Gratzi.”
Her voice sounded like velvet. She dove into a lengthy explanation in Italian of how she’d hoped to give us the news by phone ahead of time. Apparently Emilio had other ideas. He liked the element of surprise. I just hoped Uncle Laz’s heart could take it. And what would Rosa think about this Sophia Loren look-alike? I could only imagine!

Francesca ended with words that took awhile to absorb. “If Emilio is your uncle, I guess that would make me your aunt!” A giggle escaped her pouty lips.

“Well, I guess it does,” was about all I could muster. Was it possible to have an aunt my own age? All of my others were in their fifties, at least. Still, I couldn’t deny Francesca’s relationship with my uncle, could I? Instead, I just smiled and nodded, something my very polite mama had taught me to do when in doubt.

D.J. miraculously appeared at that moment. Being the consummate Southern gentleman, he dove into a well-intentioned conversation with the happy couple as we fetched their bags. Looked like Francesca had great taste in luggage. I’d never seen so much Gucci in my life. Dollar signs rolled around where my eyeballs used to be as I took it all in. Mama mia! To have luggage like that … I could only imagine.

I heard the sound of female voices ping-ponging back and forth in Italian off in the distance. Looked like Mama had located Bertina and Bianca.

Through the crowd, I caught a glimpse of the quirky duo chatting with my parents. With D.J. and the others in tow, I made my way toward them. As I did, I took in my Italian aunties. They were an interesting mix of my mother and Rosa—not quite as thin as Mama, yet not as fluffy as Rosa. Neither wore orthopedic shoes, and I didn’t notice any sagging pantyhose, so we were off to a good start. Still, I couldn’t help but smile when I realized they were dressed alike from head to toe. You would think twins in their late fifties would skip the matchy-matchy stuff, but not so in this case.

As I drew near, my gaze shifted to a woman standing alongside my aunts. Surely this couldn’t be my cousin Deanna! She was … why, she was probably thirty, at least. When did she get so … old?

Hmm. I’d probably aged a bit since she had seen me last as well.

Extending my hand, I offered a smile. “It’s so good to see you!”

Before Deanna could respond, Bertina—at least, I think it was Bertina—threw her arms around my neck, pronouncing her well wishes in Italian. Seconds later, Bianca had her arms around my neck too. I was swallowed alive by two gushing Italian divas clearly excited to see me.

“Mama, please!” Deanna’s voice rang out.

Bianca and Bertina turned their attention to the others, and Deanna reached to give me a warm hug. “I wouldn’t have known you,” she whispered in my ear. “You’re so grown up!”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Deanna’s gaze traveled to D.J., who had been standing in silence. She leaned in to whisper, “Mama mia, Bella. He’s a real Texas cowboy. Does he belong to you?”

“Yep.” I slipped my arm around D.J.’s waist, staking my claim. “Everyone, this is D.J., my fiancé.” Smiling came naturally when I used the word
fiancé
. To think, I would soon be his wife! The idea still caused my heart to flutter.

Deanna didn’t have the same reaction to the word, sadly. From the moment I made the introduction, her expression shifted from one of interest to a profound sadness. I’m pretty sure I even heard her sigh.

“What is it, honey?” I whispered. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” she responded. “Only, I just broke up with my boyfriend, Rocco. We dated for years, but he wouldn’t commit, so I had to break it off.” Tears filled her eyes, but she brushed them away. “Sorry, I don’t mean to focus attention on myself.” She forced a smile. “This is a happy time. A time when Aunt Rosa marries the man of her dreams.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it took Laz sixteen years to come around. Poor Rosa waited all of that time, poor thing.” I paused, realizing my story probably wasn’t making Deanna feel any better. “Oops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She looped her arm through mine and smiled. “No more talk about men.”

D.J. cleared his throat, and I smiled, sensing his awkwardness. Thank goodness he had an easy way about him.

Off in the distance, Francesca carried on and on. Something about her need for a manicure and a pedicure.

I leaned in to Deanna, whispering, “I can’t believe Emilio has a new wife. He didn’t even tell us. Can you believe that?”

“They just got married a couple of months ago. We were there for the celebration, and trust me, it was a celebration.” Deanna rolled her eyes. “Emilio’s business is less than a mile from our home in Napoli, remember? And besides, he’s very well-known in our region.”

“Oh, that’s right.” I’d nearly forgotten that my uncle’s home-building business was such a big deal in Italy. People over there saw him as quite the entrepreneur.

“You should have seen the write-up in the paper when they got engaged.” Deanna sighed. “A little over-the-top, but then again, that’s how Francesca likes things. And she’s a woman who gets what she wants, trust me. I wish you could have heard her on the plane. I’ve never heard a woman complain so much in my life. And she was up and down the whole trip. Spent half of her time in the restroom, touching up her makeup.”

As Francesca approached, followed by Uncle Emilio, who pulled three large Gucci suitcases, I gave Deanna a “better watch it or she might hear you” look. We would have to finish this conversation later. I had a feeling Rosa would have a lot to say about this. I could almost hear her words now:
Il
buon giorno si vede dal mattino
. Roughly translated: “The good person is evident from the beginning.” I wondered if she would pick up on the good in this voluptuous beauty or if she would see her as some sort of threat. Only time would tell.

We loaded up the cars, putting the luggage in the back of D.J.’s truck. Emilio and Francesca rode with us; the others climbed into my mother’s SUV for the drive back to the island. I knew we had a bit of a drive ahead of us—over an hour, anyway—and wondered how long I could go on hearing about Francesca’s cuticles. To make things worse, I’d opted to take the seat in back next to her so that Emilio could have more room up front.

As D.J. pulled onto the interstate, Francesca’s eyes widened. “I didn’t expect Texas to look like
this
.” The look of disgust on her face let me know that
this
wasn’t good.

“Oh?” I tried to imagine the scene through her eyes. “You were thinking wide-open plains and tumbleweeds?”

“Yes.” She pointed at the businesses on the side of the highway. “The whole place is a sea of car dealerships. Where are the cattle? The ranches?”

“Well, now …” D.J.’s thick Texas twang reverberated across the cab of the truck. “We’re crazy about our cars and trucks in Texas. No doubt about it.”

“Still …” Francesca leaned back, looking a bit disappointed. She spoke the rest in Italian, probably trying to spare D.J.’s feelings. “This is ridiculous. Nothing like the travel brochures.”

I tried to explain that Texas was filled with beautiful ranchland and cattle, just not in this area. She rolled her eyes and leaned back against the seat, complaining of a headache.

In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of D.J.’s face. God bless him. He was stifling laughter, I could tell.

“You folks hungry?” he asked. “I know a great steakhouse not too far from here.”

“Steak?” Emilio sounded excited by that possibility.

Francesca’s eyes fluttered open, and she gave a nod. Looked like they were both hungry. A quick phone call to my parents was all it took. They decided to stop along with us. Minutes later, we were all seated inside Texas Roadhouse at the intersection of Interstate 45 and FM 1960, ordering the biggest pieces of beef the Lone Star State had to offer. Surely this would squelch Francesca’s complaints and reinforce her former beliefs about Texas.

She looked around the restaurant at the eclectic Texas decor and smiled. “Now,
this
is more like it!”

There was that word again. I’d have to be on the lookout for it in future conversations.

“Thought a real Texas steakhouse might do the trick,” D.J. whispered. “Maybe we can fill ’er up and shut ’er up at the same time.”

I did my best not to laugh out loud. Still, the comment seemed a little out of character for my usually soft-spoken honey. Had he reached his limit with Francesca already? If so, how would we ever survive the week ahead?

The hostess seated us at a large table and passed around the menus. At this point, everyone began to talk at once, as always. By the time we’d ordered our steaks, Mama and Francesca were deeply engaged in a conversation about nail salons. I let my mother take it from here, knowing she held a frequent-flier card at the best salon on Galveston Island. She certainly didn’t need my input.

Within minutes, my mother had shifted gears and was telling Francesca all of her beauty secrets—how she used udder cream to keep her hands and feet silky smooth, and how Crisco made the best makeup remover. She went on and on about the benefits of using coffee grounds to remove cellulite and a feed-store product called Mane and Tail for soft, bouncy hair. Francesca reached into her purse and pulled out an iPod, taking quick notes. I’d never seen such excitement in a woman’s eyes.

Hmm. The more I thought about that, the more I realized women were women, no matter where they came from. And nothing—I repeat, nothing—could beat a great jar of udder cream and soft, bouncy hair.

We arrived back on the island just as the sun began to set. I could hardly wait to see the look on my sister’s face when she laid eyes on Uncle Emilio’s new wife. And what would Aunt Rosa say? I could only imagine!

As we made our way down Broadway, the island’s quaint thoroughfare, Francesca pointed to a banner on the side of the road. “What is this ‘Dickens on the Strand’?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s a wonderful Christmas festival the island hosts every year,” I explained. “People come from all over the state, dressed in Victorian costumes.” I went on to explain that vendors sold their wares and folks performed music from Dickens’s era.